


have yourself a merry little christmas

by thebrotherswholoved



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Oneshot, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Tumblr: thebrotherswholoved, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebrotherswholoved/pseuds/thebrotherswholoved
Summary: spending Christmas with the Mills seemed like a great idea that August, except for a few tiny details they had "forgotten" to tell Jody and company: (a) that they're in love, and (b) that Sam has some news to break.





	have yourself a merry little christmas

**Author's Note:**

> prompt credit: @/canonicallysoulmates
> 
> hope you enjoy, as this has been in the works (aka I forgot about it for weeks at a time oops) since september I believe?? anyway, enjoy!!

_ 23 December 2020 _

  
Sam is absolutely dreading this holiday.  
  
Of course he loves Jody, Donna, Alex, and Claire but god, at what cost? The girls are always fighting over, what, clothes? The last wine cooler in the fridge? He doesn't know, and he sure as hell doesn't want to find out. And Jody is beginning to go through another of her "baby fever" phases, which basically means that she wants to adopt another wayward teenager or something. Donna, however, is in her Martha Stewart stage (the fifth in a year) where she bakes sweets that look like edible obesity and fries everything. Needless to say, her gift from Sam this year is a crockpot.  
  
Last Christmas was absolutely wonderful. The boys had nobody to appease or suck up to, and the whole holiday was essentially a food fest, both of them seeing who could gain the most over a few days. Dean has the metabolism of a lion and grew up in the subpar weight range, and so was visibly upset when the scale showed that he had actually lost weight. Sam, on the other hand, won in a landslide (aka, the measly 1.2 pounds he managed to gain over the span of a week). All in all, it was their first Christmas alone since Bobby passed away and, though sad, it gave them a chance to be lazy and buy a tree at a tree farm instead of scouring the woods in the freezing cold in search of one that "spoke to them."  
  
This year, they don't get to sit snuggled up on the couch or sit on blankets in front of the furnace and watch shitty hallmark movies. They instead have to string garland and hang lights outside, which Jody is thankful for since Sam is a literal giant. He would decline for the sake of his extremities and sanity, but seeing the fear in that woman's eyes as she stares at the ladder made him cave in years previous. He guesses that nothing has changed, and thus prepares to get frostnip...again.  
  
Dean is tired and grumpy because he was woken up by an anxious moose at four thirty this morning despite their allotted time to leave Lawrence, which was six o'clock before Sam's fit of panic. Dean has adopted a sense of urgency when I comes to making plans, and pointed out that it would take approximately five hours and fifty-two minutes to get there from the bunker. He nearly had a coronary when they hit a bit of traffic about halfway in, telling Sam that "this was not part of the plan," and "if we left later we'd be there on time with a few minutes to spare."  
  
Sam typically just says "you know you love me," pecks his cheek, and continues listening to his music on his phone while simultaneously researching some strange phenomena in South Dakota. The domesticity is astounding, really. They're like an old married couple.  
  
"I'm gonna rear end 'em. I swear to Chuck, I'm gonna rear end 'em if they don't speed the hell up" Dean sputters, throwing his hands up in an animated fit of passion.  
  
It takes all he has in him to not sic a hell-hound on this stupid red Toyota in front of them—you know, the one that apparently read the manual and thus leaves a gap between their front plate and the next car on the road. Dean knows not to trust miracles, so when the dumb car speeds up, he follows with eyes squinted up in an "I'll fucking kill you" look.  
  
The taller boy pulls the earphone from one ear and puts a hand on his lover's thigh. "Patience, jerk."  
  
He huffs and stops pressing the gas for a minute in the unmoving bumper to bumper bottleneck. "Bitch. We should'a taken a side road, Sammy. I don't wanna face Jody's wrath. And Donna scares me."  
  
"There's a branch off the highway up there. We'll GPS it from there, 'kay?" He attempts to appease the older Winchester.  
  
Dean nods, and promptly slams on the breaks as that fucking Toyota leaves a hundred mile gap between them and a semi and raises his hand to honk the horn, but lowers it after earning a bitch face from Sam. Soon enough, traffic starts to disperse a bit as they come up on the exit, and Sam leans his head into Dean's shoulder as he drives, to which he reciprocates by running his fingers through the tangled mess of hair, which he didn't have time to comb that morning allegedly. They're both surprised at how Baby hasn't gotten into more accidents given all the time that Dean spends not looking at the road, but rather focusing on...other things.  
  
"What'cha reading, nerd?" Dean asks as he's able to speed up from a mile an hour to forty at last, and returns his other hand to the wheel.  
  
Sam shrugs his massive shoulders and looks down at his cellphone, which is playing the song "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas:" one that Dean isn't particularly fond of, as he'd discovered Christmas morning of 2019. Of course, he'd never hear the end of it, so he shuts up. He then gets lost in his thoughts about what they did two years ago on Christmas Eve after dinner when they retreat to their "rooms" (one of them ends up sneaking into the other's bed after making the bed looked slept in, anyway). 'Cause hey, if Alex and Claire can sleep in the same bed, why can't they? That was their first Christmas as an "official" couple, which made every detail memorable.  
  
"Um...it's a potential case," he mutters upon getting a side eye from Dean. "I'm thinking it's a shifter or somethin'."  
  
Dean groans. "No! It's Christmas, Sammy! No workin' on Christmas. It's all Hallmark movies, beers, and pie for the next three days. No protesting, either. I earned this."  
  
Sam simply laughs and returns to his 'reading.' "It's my gift to Jody. And whatever you say...sweetie."  
  
"We're really doing this, dear?" Dean replies without missing a beat.  
  
The boys love their pet names, but so help him god, Dean Winchester will not be treated like a sissy. And Sam thinks "dear" sounds like they're seventy years old and applying for Medicare. Yet another button to push on the panel they know so well, you know, living as brothers for twenty odd years.  
  
"Nope, you always win anyway," he smiles, pecking his boyfriend on the cheek. Dean looks at him, slightly confused, but then shrugs it off and places a kiss on the head resting on his shoulder.  
  
Sam has always been the more stereotypically affectionate one. He never fails to up the domesticity by a thousand percent in their relationship, and showers Dean in so much love and adoration he could drown. The older Winchester, however, is the more protective one of the two. They've both died for one another on a few occasions and would gladly do it again (a vicious, codependent cycle), but Dean's ways of showing love border on possessive. Not dominant per se, but still protective, which Sam secretly loves.  
  
And in the end, it's always Dean who asks to cuddle ("because it's cold," he says in the middle of summer): point, set, match.  
  
A few hours on the salted, icy roads and they're pulling up to the Mills family house. As soon as Dean finishes covering Baby up and getting her settled for a few days of idleness outside (because heaven forbid she's a bit chilly) and offering his hand to Sam after opening his door for him as inconspicuously as possible, Jody emerges from the house, covered in a quilt, with a flask in hand.  
  
"The girls are waiting for the ice to thaw before taking a whack at shovelling. If you fall, I ain't comin' to get you," she says from the porch. Dean has to tell every instinct in him not to assist Sam while they try not to die on the ice-slicked pathway. Once sure their boots have gripped, they quicken their pace. "Now, hurry up and give me a hug."  
  
They both envelope the shorter woman in a hug, their hands "coincidentally" touching in the embrace. Sam lets go of her first, fixes his scarf, and smiles down at her. "How've you been?"  
  
"Well, I'm drinking, aren't I?" She shakes her flask, making Dean chuckle. Sam forces his gay thoughts to the recesses of his mind, as he always has the urge to kiss that bow legged man when he laughs. "Come on in. It's colder 'n shit out here."  
  
They shake the snow from their boots and step inside, and Sam swears he can see Dean melt at the sudden warmth and the smell of sugar cookies from the kitchen. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by screaming upstairs.  
  
Dean pulls a gun from his coat and Sam takes his spare pistol from his back pocket. Jody waves them off and nods toward the staircase. "I'd check on 'em, but they've been screaming at each other nonstop for a week. Something about...fuck it, I have no clue."  
  
Sam chuckles in understanding and Jody throws his duffel onto the floor while Dean sets his next to it as she leads them into the kitchen, where they see Donna rocking out to the tune of All I Want for Christmas is You in her "kiss the chef" apron. Obviously she's making cookies while simultaneously cooking dinner: typical amazing Donna. Jody takes the stout woman's headphones out and wipes flour from her nose. The two smile and almost share a quick kiss before Donna catches a glimpse the boys who're lingering in the corner like foreigners.  
  
**(A/N: everyone's gay in this fanfic—deal with it, peasants)**  
  
"Have you gotten taller or have I gotten shorter?" The blonde exclaims in her Minnesota accent.  
  
Sam grins with such warmth that the cold in the air begins to fade before hugging her. "Definitely both. God, I missed you both so much."  
  
Donna and Jody simply wrap him another hug and, despite the feeling of being choked, he dares not try to escape this ambush bear-hug. "Don't you ever leave for that long ever again, you hear? Both of 'ya."  
  
"We won't." The younger Winchester promises. "It's been too long. I need my moms to help with my asshole brother."  
  
Both Jody and Donna have known that Sam and Dean consider them the only present maternal figures in their lives, but without fail Donna gets emotional every single time it's mentioned.  
  
Dean hugs the blonde haired woman and eyes Sam. "I didn't know my brother was a sap, bitch."  
  
"Jerk," he sticks his tongue out. "Okay, is it safe to go see the mini adults?"  
  
Donna nods at the staircase, a gesture she obviously learned from Jody. "Go ahead. Code word is high pitched screaming."  
  
With a chuckle, the boys head upstairs, stopping when they're out of sight to hold hands. They're forced to unlock their fingers at the top stair landing, but are soon ambushed by a blonde she-devil and a quiet brunette. The girls, despite being adopted and unrelated, look surprisingly like their moms.  
  
Claire scoffs up at the moose and slaps him across the face lightly. "You dicks didn't think to visit us?!"  
  
"Of course we did, we just didn't want to deal with both of you," Sam scrunches up his nose. When he lets go of Claire and she gives a quick hug—and slap—to Dean, Alex waves in all her timidity.  
  
Sam randomly turns his head to look at Dean, and in the heat of the moment has this love-laced look in his eyes that literally anyone with an ounce of emotional intelligence could recognise.  
  
Dean shoots Alex and Claire a look and Sam clears his throat. "Sorry."  
  
"Whatever," Dean nudges Sam with his shoulder. "So, important question: where's the pie?"  
  
Claire leads them down a hallway and turns to look at them. "Downstairs. But Mom will have a heart attack if I don't show you your rooms, or whatever. Even though you used to, like, live here."  
  
Dean throws open one of the doors and steps inside, making a noise somewhere between an absentminded snort and a laugh. "Ah, nothin's changed. I wonder if they ever found my—"  
  
"Not going there." Sam coughs, forcing Dean to stop talking. Of course he knows where that was going: the weird collection of porn and magazines and shit. "It is nice to be home again."  
  
"It really is," Dean chimes in with a crooked smile.  
  
After an awkward silence, Sam clears his throat. "So, Claire, Alex, where are your rooms? Which one of you got the big ass bedroom?"  
  
Sam only asks this because he wants to reminisce: he and Dean used to play "ghost busters" in every room when they were very young, including that big bedroom that was supposed to be his room. Whenever Bobby wasn't available to have John's children dumped on him, at least.  
  
"Me," Claire saunters out the door and down another hallway. "But only two have been used in the past three weeks: mine, and our moms'. Alex has these weird dreams and Mom likes to keep an eye on her—"  
  
"—which usually ends with me getting sandwiched by my parents." Alex's laugh breaks the tension in the air.  
  
Sam looks at Dean with nostalgia. When he used to have terrible nightmares about the Boogeyman (which is totally real, by the way) and the nameless yellow eyed demon returning, Dean would sneak him into his bed so he could watch him and make sure he didn't have any dreams. John would never, ever show an ounce of affection toward his boys, and so Dean took on that role like he did with every other role in Sammy's life.  
  
"Yeah, I get where your moms are coming from," Sam looks Alex in the eyes. He likes this girl: she reminds him of himself, only stronger and more resilient. "Dean used to do that to me, too. So, I get it. It helps."  
  
"Jesus, Sammy—too many sappy movies for you." Dean runs his hand down the bannister. "Alright, I should put my shit away—"  
  
Scaring the living hell out of them, Jody yells from downstairs. "Girls, Sam, Dean! Dinner, now!"  
  
When Dean starts after food, he isn't stopping. He nearly hits a wall on his way downstairs, and it sounds like a herd of elephants trampling their prey as he skids to a halt. Sam trails not far behind with the girls following suit. Claire snorts at Dean as soon as they all sit down as he carries a whole two servings of food on a single plate, walking triumphantly to sit beside Sam. When he sees the looks he's getting from the girls (Sam knows better), he gestures at Donna.  
  
"Your mom's a great cook!" He exclaims. "I didn't come here for an intervention, c'mon guys."  
  
"At least someone appreciates my food," Donna swings a rag over her left shoulder, winking at Dean. The green-eyed man, who has a mouth full of food, just nods and smiles. Sam gets up to grab food, despite being nauseous from the drive and thus not hungry in the slightest, and comes back with a small salad with a sliver of chicken.  
  
Dean looks at his plate in disgust. "Dude, are we even related?!"  
  
"Debatable," Sam puts a napkin on his lap, which is simply an excuse to rest his hand on the older Winchester's thigh.  
  
This is rare: eating dinner as a family. As kids, their diets mostly consisted of TV dinners well past their established bedtime while watching Scooby Doo in the comfortable discomfort of a dodgy motel room. Nowadays, they alternate between Dean's cooking and Sam's, a system which has worked for awhile. They typically eat in bed while browsing Netflix for shows other than the "stupid" documentaries Sam makes his boyfriend watch. Sometimes, Cas stops by and just watches them eat (Dean thinks it's creepy), and once in a blue moon, they have Charlie or Kevin over, too.  
  
It's not rare, just foreign.  
  
It's foreign to have a place to call home.  
  
Home. That's a weird word to them both, but for some reason, it feels right. It's not the house, though, not really: it's everyone around him.  
  


* * *

  
  
The entire dinner is filled with the sound of Dean's obnoxious laughter at the stupidest puns Claire is reading off her phone (because, hell, they never see each other—what's one bent rule?) and casual banter between Sam, Alex, and Jody.  
  
Sam perks up when Alex mentions Stanford and how she wants to go into nursing, and he gives her all the encouragement he has to offer. He's almost acting like a father toward this once-orphaned girl, and Jody is confused at this new behavior. She welcomes it nonetheless, however.  
  
Sam barely eats, which concerns his lover greatly. Dean keeps staring at his plate and then meeting his eyes as if to ask if everything's alright. Sam nods and continues picking at his plate.  
  
Being the older one, Dean obviously covers for him. "He's been nauseous the whole drive—this idiot thought it'd be smart to read while in the passenger seat."  
  
"Understood," Donna clasps her hand over the taller boy's. "If you wanna go rest up, feel free. You know this house better than I do."  
  
Sam ponders this for a moment and then nods.  
  
"Okay. Yeah, thank you." He then turns to Dean and pushes his glass of wine, which went all dinner untouched, toward his brother. "Dean, drink."  
  
Dean doesn't need to be told twice and dumps the whole damn glass into his own with an "I'm gonna regret this tomorrow" glint in his eye. With that lingering visual in mind, he excuses himself and walks upstairs, but not before grabbing his duffel bag. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, something feels off. It's not an uncommon feeling, but it's still uncomfortable as hell. Hand over his mouth, he drops his bag on the wood floor and bolts to the bathroom. Upon landing harshly on his knees in front of the toilet, he vomits the little dinner he had eaten. He manages to turn the tap on so as to avoid raising concerns.  
  
When he assumes he's done throwing up from the familiar emptiness in his stomach, he leans back and his broad shoulders hit the wall with a thud. He wipes his mouth on a rag, squinting his eyes in confusion while tracing mindless patterns in the walls. Within a new moments, that confusion twists into a revelation—and a nerve wracking one at that.  
  
This episode just became the one piece of evidence to bring his theory closer to being proven, something he's dreaded since the beginning.  
  
"Okay then," He mutters to himself with a nervous laugh. He hoists himself off the floor and washes his face before turning off the tap. "I guess that has to mean something."  
  
He's glad he'd lugged his duffel into the bathroom with him. When he was packing back in Kansas, he'd shoved two drug-store-bought tests into his bag on a whim at two in the morning a week before the trip, but then he promptly forgot about it...until now. They're definitely not trying for a baby, but it's always been a thought in the back of his mind—a scary yet plausible thought, at that.  
  
Inhaling with razor blades in his throat, he shoves his hand into the bundle of flannel shirts and various weapons with a complete lack of clarity (physical and mental) until his fingers brush against the sharp corner of a box. Yanking it out, he reads the label: ClearBlue.  
  
Bingo.  
  
After checking the label about four times, he quickly tears open the packaging while trying not to pay too much attention to the woman on the front cover of the box. Her smile creeps him out, even though he hunts banshees and shit for a living.  
  
For the first ten years of Sam Winchester's life, he thought he was as straight as a pole. So much so that he didn't pay attention to the doctor's lectures on safe sex and preventing unwanted pregnancy. Turns out, he is not as heterosexual as he thought; on top of that, he found love in the most unusual place. It's crazy how fast the night changes, he guesses. "No glove, no love" has never been so relevant.  
  
Sam pulls the weird stick-thing from its destroyed casing and skims over the instructions, literally only comprehending the words "pregnancy test," "urine," "negative," and "positive." He sighs and prepares for the most terrifying, exciting, and anxiety-inducing moment of his life. Here goes nothin'.  
  
The test goes as expected with only a few hiccups because lord willing, these tests aren't meant for men. He shoves the stick into his pocket and begins to get rid of the evidence.  
  
He realises that he can't just toss the box into the bin, as whoever takes out the garbage will get the shock of a lifetime or, heaven forbid it's Donna or Jody, assume it belongs to one of the girls and they will never hear the end of it. So, he just shoves the box into his bag and hopes Dean won't rummage through it.  
  
He then wraps a towel over his muscular shoulders like he did when he was a child (and much smaller) and retreats to his room. Back in the glorious time when his only concern was dodging the monsters long enough to get to Dean's bed, not having to worry about false positives and hCG...whatever. Sam plops himself onto the springy mattress he knows so well and rolls over to look at the ceiling like he's in a weird rom-com movie.  
  
He doesn't know how he manages to forget about such an important thing, but after ten minutes he rolls over and feels the test shift in his back pocket, and suddenly becomes aware again. He holds it face down in his hands like it's an atomic bomb and prepares himself once again. He squints his eyes and turns it over. With his eyes still screwed almost shut, he thinks he sees a minus sign.  
  
Following a heavy exhale, he feels...sad. With these things, one never doubts negative results—only the positive ones get attention. Dejected, he decides to take one more look at the result and when he does, his eyes bug out of his skull.  
  
It's a plus sign. He's pregnant—fucking pregnant!  
  
"What?!" He nearly yells in shock. His hand falls over his mouth to remind him that his boyfriend is just downstairs—and so is most of the only family he's ever known.  
  
Sam almost freaks out and gets excited, but decides to take another one just to be sure. It's better to be safe than sorry, especially with something as important as an actual, real baby. So, he puts the positive test back into his pocket and walks back to the bathroom.  
  
His legs threaten to give out due to nausea, exhaustion, and the overwhelming situation he's in but he manages to make it there in one piece. He rummages through his duffel once more and relives the horrors of the first time he took the pregnancy test, which was a nightmare.  
  
This time, the waiting is far worse. He just wants to know already. The minutes tick by slowly as he gets sucked into his thoughts again. If he's pregnant, how and when would he tell Dean? What about their family and friends? Would they reject him or them both? Would Dean even want the baby? He stops thinking: that last question is ridiculous. Dean, though claiming to be as stone cold as a boulder, literally gushes at every toddler or infant he sees on a case.  
  
If he's not, though...would he want to be eventually? Like, at a more convenient time in their lives? He thinks he does, and he knows Dean would like a child someday, but he probably expects to have to adopt. Little does he know, there's no need.  
  
"Holy shit!"  
  
Sam catches his breath as he frantically turns off the alarm he set for five minutes so as not to have a repeat of the last test where he forgot about it for ten minutes. Still recovering from being scared out of his skin, he shuts his eyes and reaches for the stick, which he set on the bedside table. With an anxious inhale and doubtful exhale, he turns it over and falls back onto the bed upon seeing the results.  
  
His hand rests over his thin lips to keep him from exclaiming or freaking out as he lays there, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota on the day before Christmas Eve, after finding out he's going to be a father. A father!  
  
The wetness of his cheeks shocks him at first. Sam Winchester—stoic, hunter-born Sam Winchester—is now crying over a baby, his baby, their baby. A tiny fucking human, what's not to freak out about? His hand falls from holding the test above him so he could confirm for the eighth time that the results are indeed positive down to his stomach, which makes his lips curl into an even larger smile.  
  
Just like any expecting father, he has his doubts. What are the odds of having two tests be flukes? He can't make a fuss about this until he's absolutely sure that it's really happening. Sure, he has his instincts, which were telling him that he's pregnant all the way back in Lawrence (obviously) but instincts are sometimes wrong. He decides to call the one person he knows can confirm this with no hassle, someone he can rely on. In fact, it would've been way easier to just ask him in the beginning, but inside he really did want the whole experience.  
  
He shuts his eyes and begins to pray—more like plead—for an answer.  
  
"Hey, Cas. I know you're busy up there or wherever the hell you are, and I know it's your half-brother's birthday or somethin', but I need your help. I—"  
  
That's all it takes, and a second after he's cut off by a rumble and whooshing sound, Castiel appears in all his trench-coated glory. He's taken a liking to the Winchesters after he saved Dean from hell and subsequently Sam from the pit as well, so it doesn't take much to get his feathery ass down to earth.  
  
"Hey—" Sam begins, but is cut off once again by Cas, who's dusting himself off.  
  
"It's snowy out there." He mutters with his professional poker face. Sam chortles and he cocks his head at the younger Winchester, but still continues. "What's up?"  
  
Sam doesn't even have time to dissect Cas' new slang usage—which he presumes is Balthazar's doing—because he needs to get this pregnancy confirmed or denied as quickly as possible. "Oh, um...well...just look."  
  
The next thing Cas knows he's being handed two white sticks with plus signs on them. He shifts his blue eyes from the screen, to Sam, and back again. He's visibly confused (what else is new), and he looks back at Sam, whose foot is bouncing anxiously on the carpet.  
  
"Cas," he bites his bottom lip, "a-am I pregnant or not?"  
  
The angel dons a face of understanding and shrugs. "Well, that would explain a lot."  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and nods at the tests in Cas' hand. "Is there a way to be absolutely sure."  
  
"Of course. Lay down and hold your breath," Cas gestures toward the bed. Sam does so without any hesitation and surprisingly, the hand glowing on his stomach doesn't burn; at most it's a bit tingly. Cas then backs away and nods. "Indeed you are. About nine weeks to be exact."  
  
Sam laughs in excited relief and falls back down onto the mattress, which shifts under his weight, laying both hands on his stomach. "Thanks, Cas. Oh! Please don't tell Dean about the baby—I wanna tell him myself."  
  
"Of course. My pleasure." The scruffy angel turns on his heel but then stops and turns back to Sam. "And you have a slight magnesium deficiency. Just thought you should know."  
  
"Okay, thank—" Sam nods, confusion etched into his face, but can't finish his sentence before the room is empty again. He shrugs and starts daydreaming again, about the baby and about how Dean is gonna react when he finds out.  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Another wave of anxiety shoots through him. He's nine weeks gone already, which means he should tell Dean immediately. He stands up in his panicked state but settles down when an idea comes to mind. Christmas Day is in two days...and that leaves him at least a few hours today and tomorrow to get everything ready. No extravagant gestures because they're stuck acting heterosexual and not-in-love for the weekend, but maybe he can pull his boyfriend aside after tomorrow's dinner.  
  
It'll be a total surprise to him, as Dean cried the last time Sam got him something for Christmas and the year after marked the first annual "no chick flick moments" holiday rule. What's one year of that rule being broken? Plus, he can't wait to see the look on his face and his sparkly green eyes shine bright with excitement when he finds out that he's going to be a dad. Sam doesn't doubt that for a second: they've both secretly wanted a family since their own dad died.  
  
He hops up out of his bed and sneaks to the stairs, listening for Dean's laugh. He hears it and chuckles when he accidentally snorts at one of Claire's shitty jokes. After he's confirmed that everyone is preoccupied downstairs, he runs into the bathroom for a third time, this time throwing open the drawers until he finds what he's looking for. Obviously it's either Alex's or Donna's, as the ribbon is a bright green color, and not only would Jody never wear that, he's positive Claire would hurl if she caught a glimpse of that color.  
  
Sam holds the end of the ribbon between his teeth and adjusts the two tests to rest one on top of the other before tying them together in a neat bow. Satisfied, he hides his newspaper-wrapped present to Dean in his bag until tomorrow, when he plans to give him the shock of a lifetime. He composes himself once more and inhales, walking downstairs to join the rest of the family.  
  
"Hey!" Dean yells, his mouth full of pie. "You feelin' better, Sleeping Beauty?"  
  
Sam nods and sits down beside Jody, who is obviously on her fourth IPA of the day, and Donna, who is the culprit behind the three different kinds of pie on Dean's plate. "Much better. So, what're we doing?"  
  
"Claire's being a dork," Alex sticks her tongue out at her sister. "And your brother is waking the dead with his laughing."  
  
"Try living with him full time," he rolls his eyes at Dean, who is shovelling more pie into his mouth. "Where'd you get that pie, jerk?"  
  
Dean sets his fork down and stares at Sam like he has six heads. "Am I in the Twilight Zone, or did Sam Winchester just ask for pie?"  
  
Donna puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and heads off to the kitchen. "Sam, we've got pecan and boysenberry, which do you want?"  
  
"A bit of both would be awesome, thanks," he says, earning a triumphant smile from Donna and a slightly concerned look from Dean.  
  
"Dude, are you feeling okay?" He asks. Claire nudges him and he coughs in surprise, nudging her back.  
  
"I just want pie, Dean." Sam locks eyes with the green ones he knows so well. "Is that weird?"  
  
Dean raises his hands in mock surrender. "Nope. Oh, shit, we should play monopoly!"  
  
In a moment of pure, uncut panic, the entire group shouts disapprovals at Dean, who just shrugs.  
  
"What the hell is wrong with Monopoly?" She asks, amused and intrigued by her moms', sister's, and Sam's response to such an innocent sounding concept.  
  
Sam shudders a tad, recalling memories of Bobby storming out the door after rounds of this cursed board game. "Everything. Literally every single thing."  
  
"Oh, it's not that bad!" Dean slaps his thigh and leans into Sam's personal space (it's not like he's complaining). He got this dirty smirk on his face in a matter of seconds, and Sam could hardly resist kissing him. "You loved it when we played back in October."  
  
Sam blinked—that's all he could do. How dare he bring up October Game Night in front of family? What started with an innocent board game shifted when he got a house in the forehead, and it ended in, well, lots of sex. Like...lots. In fact, that might be the night their baby was conceived. All in all, this is not a family discussion.  
  
"You wish," he mumbles with a mouthful of pie.  
  
Donna sets her beer down and hisses. "That game is the devil. Jody and I almost broke up twice because of it."  
  
"I wanna play," Alex smiles. Of course she does. Dean laughs and high fives her, and even though Sam is dreading the game, he can only see how good his boyfriend is with Alex and Claire. His heart flutters a bit as he watches the love of his life prepare the game board for what might be the three hours that ruin Christmas.  
  
The game only lasts two hours before Claire has taken Jody's gun twice, Alex suffers a mental breakdown, and Sam almost slips up countless times by having to stop himself from kissing Dean whenever he does something right (a rare thing, if he's being honest). He's also almost cried...twice. Damn these hormones and damn the handsome motherfucker throwing Monopoly houses at him. The game ends with Claire flipping the board and shooting the gun in the air, only to find that it isn't even loaded.  
  
The girls go upstairs, still recovering from the trauma endured during those two hours, and Donna gives Sam and Dean hugs goodnight. Jody simply pats Sam's shoulder and grabs Dean's wrist, making him jump.  
  
"No more goddamn monopoly," she growls. He mumbles a genuinely-scared "yes, ma'am" and watches as Jody smirks and follows her wife upstairs.  
  
The boys wait until the lights go out to start walking upstairs, and interlock their fingers for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Leaning his head into his boyfriend's shoulder, Dean laughs just under his breath.  
  
"What?" Sam asks, squeezing the shorter man's hand.  
  
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Dean asks in a genuine tone.  
  
They reach the top of the stairs and search for wandering eyes before retreating into "Dean's" room to make it look like he slept there when, in reality, the two will sleep in the same bed like always. They finish folding clothes and Dean-ifying the room and promptly head into Sam's room, which didn't look like anything remotely emotional had happened at all.  
  
Sam tosses a pillow to the side as Dean closes the door. "What makes you think I don't feel okay?"  
  
The bow legged man shrugs his broad shoulders and peels his shirt from his torso. "I dunno. I guess you're usually more careful in front of Jody when it comes to us, and back there I could've sworn I saw your "I wanna bang" look. Plus, you ate four pieces of pie, which is four more than you ever have, and—"  
  
"Hey," Sam takes Dean's hands in his and looks him in his candy green eyes. "I'm okay, I promise. I guess I was just hungry. And hey, you almost outed us too, y'know."  
  
The older of the two blows air between his lips and slips under the duvet. "It's hard keeping this a secret. Especially around family."  
  
Sam sighs. This conversation usually comes up when they're spending time with other people, but it was usually with Bobby. He has his suspicions, though, and is nearly sure that Bobby knew the boys were together. "I know. It's just...this isn't something you can just announce at the dinner table. We might lose them, Dean."  
  
"You really think so?" Dean asks as Sam climbs into bed beside him. The taller man makes himself appear small, just like he always used to do, and curls up at his boyfriend's side. The elder Winchester smiles in response, planting a kiss on his head.  
  
"I don't know." Sam mutters and begins tracing mindless patterns into Dean's chest. "But I know one thing."  
  
"Hm?" He strokes his upper arm, awaiting the younger's response.  
  
Sam kisses Dean sweetly, running his hand down his stubble coated cheek. The kiss lingers, as they both have felt deprived of affection all day; and when they open their eyes, they both smile like they're seeing each other for the very first time.  
  
"I know that I have you."  
  


* * *

  
  
_ 24 December 2020 _

  
Per usual, Sam wakes up before Dean.  
  
He doesn't mind it, though. He gets to see the side of Dean that nobody else ever gets to: the sleepy, groggy, and softer side. Sometimes he wakes up as the little spoon when he clearly went to sleep as the big spoon; and others, chaos reigns and he wakes up with a foot or an elbow in his face. On rare occasions, he might even wake up off the bed entirely while Dean is doing his best "unconscious spread eagle" on the comfy mattress. Literally nothing Dean can do can wake Sam from his slumber. Hell, he describes his sleep state as his "narcoleptic moose" state, which usually earns him a bitch face from his bead-headed lover.  
  
This morning, his waking up is glorious. The bunker doesn't have natural sunlight on account of the lack of windows in general, so it's nice to be woken up by a sunrise rather than an alarm clock. The room is also a nice temperature due to the snow combating the heavy insulation, so he's well rested and ready for one of the best days of his life as soon as his eyes flutter open.  
  
As soon as he looks downward, he notices that he's stayed in relatively the same position all night, except for Dean spider-monkeying onto his back. He smiles widely when he sees where Dean's hand just happens to lay: across his midsection. He's ready to get emotional again, but is pulled from his blissful inattentiveness by the sound of footsteps retreating downstairs.  
  
Fuck. He forgot that Donna and Jody wake up at the literal crack of dawn. Sam begins to panic, but hears the stove start up and the coffee machine whir, so he knows he has some time to transfer Dean into the room he's allegedly staying in. He begins by rubbing his arm, which then progresses to him literally prying said arm from his waist so he can sit upright. Even still, the hunter is still drooling and probably dreaming, as his lips twitch into a vague smile every few seconds.  
  
"Dean," Sam whispers harshly into the cool air.  
  
The older boy just grunts and swats at the pillow. "Sammy-y-y..."  
  
"I know," he kisses his button nose, "but we gotta make it look like we slept in separate rooms in case Donna or Jody walks in."  
  
Dean is now slightly more awake, and rolls over to face his boyfriend completely. "But I wanna snuggle all day. It's Christmas Eve. I earned this."  
  
"Yeah, I'd much rather cuddle you too, but we gotta get moving." Sam climbs out of bed and Dean groans, but follows suit in pursuit of his source of warmth. They look down both hallways for the girls or their mothers and, seeing nobody, kiss each other quickly and return to their respective rooms.  
  
Sam closes the door and sighs, wanting the day to go by so he won't have to keep this secret any longer. Hell, he wishes he could tell Jody and Donna, too. He knows they'd implode out of happiness to have a great nephew or niece or grandchild...whatever this child is in relation to them. He even thinks Claire and Alex would be excited at the prospect of babysitting in nearly seven months. But, it's too risky—the couple can't risk losing the only family they have left besides each other.  
  
He quickly throws on a long sleeved flannel and some jeans, narrowly avoiding toppling over onto the bed as he puts a sock on. His vestibular functions are still way off from his fit last night, and his ears are so full of pressure that he feels like he climbed Mount Everest just yesterday. He's happy, but now he notices every little thing he couldn't before: he's bloated, cranky, and extra sensitive to the cold.

  
"Sam!" He hears Dean whisper-yell from outside the door. "Did I leave my shirt in there?"  
  
He half smiles in annoyance, picking up the Led Zeppelin t-shirt and throwing it at the older Winchester, who narrowly misses a shirt to the face. Dean simply smirks and strides back into "his" room to get ready. Sam tidies up the bed and checks to see if his surprise is still hidden from sight before walking downstairs, careful not to make the stairs squeak. He knows the pattern: left, left, skip, left, right, right, left. Of course that's one of the things that stuck with him well into his adulthood from a blissfully dysfunctional childhood.  
  
Jody sips her coffee and skims the obituaries prior to catching Sam moving out of the corner of her eye. She sets down her cup and grins. "Hey! How're you feeling? Better?"  
  
Sam nods and quietly pulls a chair out to sit across from the woman with greying brown hair. He taps his fingers on the aged wood, and Jody gestures at her mug, obviously asking if he wants any coffee. He shakes his head. "No, thank you."  
  
She raises her hands in surrender and goes back to her morbid habit. Apparently there's nothing but car accidents and natural causes, because she sets the newspaper down in a huff. Sam's about to make a comment about a potential case he researched on the way into town, but the conversation is interrupted by Dean barrelling down the stairs.  
  
_Oh god,_ Sam thinks to himself. He does this every year: that hideous wool jumper he received as a joke makes an appearance, and is usually paired with some sort of novelty accessory. Last year, it was a candy cane striped jockstrap that took Sam a bit too long to discover (still fun, though). This year, it's a goddamn Santa Claus hat. Heaven help them.  
  
"Merry Christmas, bitches!" He twirls to show Sam and Jody the garment Sam almost burned on multiple occasions.  
  
Jody looks him up and down, shrugs, and goes back to the important news section. Sam, however, can't help himself. "Would you listen if I asked you to change?"  
  
"No," he smiles like a dork, looking at Sam. "Alright, coffee then food....two sugars, one splash skim?"  
  
"No, thanks," Sam mutters, but then puts on a happy face to avoid suspicions. "Not really feeling coffee today."  
  
"Who are you and what've you done with my brother?" He scoffs, hands on hips. "More for us, then. Hey not-Sam, where's Donna?"  
  
"Kitchen," Jody looks up at the nearly 30 year old man **(A/N: holy timeline alter, am I right?)** who is acting like a kid in a candy store. "Making linked sausages."  
  
"No fuckin' way," he slides into the kitchen with his socks and hugs the stout blonde from behind. "Sammy, can we live here?"  
  
"It's Sam," he corrects, laughing with Jody. "And I don't think Jody and Donna would appreciate you eating all their food."  
  
He walks out of the kitchen with a glass of orange juice and sets it down in front on his brother. "Drink."  
  
Sam looks up into his green eyes, but can't see past the ridiculous hat he's wearing, and laughs. "Fine."  
  
He practically has to force the pulpy drink down his throat without it coming up again, but he knows he'll have to sneak away to throw it up eventually. Perks of making a human being. Jody excuses herself to go wake Alex and Claire up and Donna plates the food and hurries to get dressed, leaving the boys alone.  
  
Dean turns to his boyfriend, concern replacing the smug confusion that was there before. "Hey, are you really sure you're okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," Sam answers, forcing a sip of juice into his system to be more convincing. He fails, because Dean can see right though him and he can obviously read a disgusted look when he sees one.  
  
"No, you're not." The bow legged Winchester whispers. "No coffee? You live off the stuff, Sam. And it usually takes more than a sip of orange juice to make you hurl."  
  
"Okay, so I don't feel too great. So what? It's Christmas, which pretty much numbs everything but the nausea. I'm okay, babe. I swear." He cautiously holds his boyfriend's hand under the table.  
  
Dean has always been very overprotective, and when he knows he can't fix something, he gets slightly depressed. He's the fixer of the family, the glue, and he knows that, but even he has his limits. When it comes to Sam, however, he'll stop at nothing to make him happy.  
  
He doesn't want to give up until he can figure out what's wrong, but he can't attract more attention to them than he already has. They're both very rusty after a year of not having to hide their relationship. "Alright. Just, please let me know if you need anything. Please?"  
  
Sam nods, and listens for creaking floorboards or voices upstairs. He hears a hairdryer, the shower running, and a door closing, so they have some time. "I will. I just...I hate this. Don't get me wrong, I love Jody and Donna and the girls, but I hate having to sneak around them. God, I know that yesterday, I was tellin' you this...but it almost feels like we're around John again, only different."  
  
"I know, babe," Dean sighs as he squeezes his lover's hand gently. "We go home in two days. Then everything will be back to normal."  
  
_Yeah, totally normal._ The taller man sighs in agreement despite knowing that normalcy is changing fast. "Goddamnit, Dean, I just wanna kiss you. I know we'll go back in a few days but we both know that we're unhealthily codependent and haven't gone a week—"  
  
He gets cut off by Dean's lips on his in a quick, eager kiss. They both savor the five seconds their lips are connected and press their foreheads together as they catch their breaths. "I love you, Sammy. And I wish we could be honest without losing our family, but we can't take that risk. I can't lose you."  
  
"You won't," Sam breathes. "I love you too. We just have to survive today and tomorrow, then we'll be...free again."  
  
"We got this," Dean says just before he hears a floorboard creak upstairs. They quickly pull away from each other and realize just how cold it is without their breaths intertwining. The shorter of the two stands up and heads into the kitchen. "Sammy, d'ya want some eggs?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," he answers just as Alex comes running downstairs, followed closely by Claire, and their moms emerge shortly after. The girls bolt into the kitchen without a second glance at Sam, and he just chuckles. "Hello to you, too."  
  
Donna sits down next to the lanky brunette boy. "They don't want Dean to poach all the food."  
  
"Understandable," he rocks his glass back and forth on the table.  
  
Soon enough Dean sets a plate down next to Sam followed by his own, plops himself down in the chair, and goes full rabid on the meal. Sam begins to wonder if they're even related; because if they aren't, that'd be great. Unfortunately, Maury Povich would take one look at them and wave them away as brothers without a second glance.  
  
The blended family eats their breakfast in a clean cut silence, which is only broken when Claire airdrops Dean a meme, and he nearly falls out of his seat from laughing. Sam's hand finds his stomach yet again and he wonders to himself if Dean will change when he becomes a father. Then he looks back up at the dork in question, who is actively turning on "All I Want for Christmas is You," making everyone but Donna collectively groan. Nope—Dean will never change, and Sam thanks Chuck for that.  
  
Once plates are cleared and dishes scrubbed, everyone starts doing their own thing. Alex, who is the newest addition to the Mills-Hanscum family, is from somewhere southern and therefore has never seen snow. Yesterday, the roads and yards were covered in ice and a muddy slush; today, it's a fresh blanket of snow from the snowfall last night. Claire forces her sister into a coat, scarf, and gloves before dragging her into the yard as their moms watch from the window, arms slung around each other's waists.  
  
Sam sits down on the sofa and hands Dean the remote control, a mistake he only realizes he's made when a smirk graces his face and he flicks to the hallmark channel by memory. The guide shows which corny movie is on next, and Sam can't help but smile to himself when he sees it's one of those stereotypical 'baby on Christmas' films. He acts annoyed but watches anyway. That's how the next three hours go, at least before Dean has to turn off the television in order to preserve his fragile masculinity. They decorate the tree, a family tradition they've only just started at the bunker.  
  
They never thought it could get so dangerous when it's more than just them.  
  
"Alex, that weird ass popcorn thing is ruining the whole aesthetic!"  
  
"Aesthetic? What aesthetic? We're mixing blue with red, there's no aesthetic for miles!"  
  
"Girls, your Mom says to knock it off," Donna warns her daughters as she hangs an ornament.  
  
Sam and Dean are legitimately scared to get involved, but can't say no when Jody ushers them over. They get the top part of the tree festooned in no time and Sam asks Alex to come over. He hands her the tree topper, a plated silver star, and has her step on his palm and knee to put it on top. The older man smiles warmly, recalling many memories from their childhood.  
  
_24 December, 1989_  
_Columbus, Ohio_  
  
_John hands his oldest son a .45 and a pat on the shoulder, reiterating the instructions he's grown to know like the back of his hand. The door is open and he's shivering with cold while Sam looks on, a confused look making him cock his head. He doesn't pay attention to his father's and Dean's talks—he knows it's not his place to listen in. Still a child, he draws his attention to the shitty motel television, which is playing "How the Grinch Stole Christmas."_  
  
_John stands tall and repeats himself like a broken record. "Shoot first, ask questions later, and—"_  
  
_"Look out for Sam. Got it." Eleven year old Dean grumbles, his teeth chattering._  
  
_John gets that mean look in his eye, and Dean knows what that means. If Sam wasn't in the room, he'd get a slap to the wrist or worse, the face. "Watch your tone with me, boy. I'll be back in a few days. Bobby's number is on the counter."_  
  
_As he turns to leave, Sam pipes up, his voice still sounding girlish to Dean. "Merry Christmas, Daddy!"_  
  
_John grimaces. "Sam, you're too old to call me that. It's Dad."_  
  
_With that, he closes the door, leaving them to fend for themselves yet another time. Dean walks over to one of the beds and punches the mattress._  
  
_"Every single time!" He's crying now, hot tears streaming down his face. "Why does he do this to us?!"_  
  
_Dean stops hitting the bed and simply lays down in defeat. His sobs become soft, messy whimpers and he stares at the door through a kaleidoscope of his own tears. Sam scoots off the bed and shuffles over to him, his trousers nearly falling off his hips because they're four sizes too big (the only size Dean could grab at Walmart before the alarm sounded). When he reaches Dean's bed, he lays a pale hand on his shoulder. Dean turns over, ready to attack, and Sam removes his hand. When he sees that it's only Sam, he relaxes._  
  
_"Sorry, Sammy, you shouldn't 've seen that," he mumbles, the words being less of an apology to Sam and more blame on himself._  
  
_"It's cool," he murmurs, sitting down beside the crumpled preteen, "do you wanna watch a movie?"_  
  
_Dean doesn't really want to, but how can he say no? It's Christmas, and he wants to make Sam as happy as he can. "Yeah. Okay."_  
  
_They sit for a bit and watch the movie. Sam looks at the TV in what seems to be awe and confusion when the Grinch steals a Christmas tree, which Dean doesn't notice. He stands up, jumps off the bed and onto his feet, and takes his $0.99 safety scissors from his school bag. He begins to cut the motel note pad papers, his tongue sticking out in concentration, and Dean looks on in amusement._  
  
_"What'cha doin', Sammy?" He laughs to himself._  
  
_Sam makes one final cut and turns around, showing Dean an asymmetrical, wrinkled paper star. "I wanna go put this on the tree outside! So then we can have a Christmas tree, too."_  
  
_This makes Dean's heart hurt. This boy has never even seen a real Christmas tree before, and is trying so hard to live a normal life. Who is Dean to deny him that when he deserves so much more?_  
  
_He nods with a smile and helps the scrawny brunette get his coat on (also stolen and two sizes too big) before tugging his own jacket onto his shoulders. They brace themselves and run outside, narrowly avoiding falling into the fresh snow. When they reach the tree, Sam turns to look at Dean, who smiles despite the cold, kneels down, and hoists Sam up, one foot on his gloved palm and the other on his left knee. He successfully secures the paper star on top of the tree and they run inside, jumping under the covers for dear life._  
  
_The following morning, Dean wakes up with his little brother clinging to his back. When he looks out the window, he sees that the paper star Sam put on the tree had survived the night._  
  
This is their tradition, or it was for many years to come after that one night in '89. Sam looks down longingly and hopes to continue the holiday event with his and Dean's own child, which is enough to make him cry...again. He's shaken from his thoughts by Dean, who nudges his shoulder with a grin on his face.  
  
Before they know it, the sun is setting and the night before Christmas begins. Claire is still sulking because Jody caught her splashing a bit of Bailey's into her hot chocolate, and Alex is enjoying staring out at the gentle snowflakes fall. Sam is getting nervous now: he has only a bit of time to tell Dean about his surprise, and wants to do it tonight.  
  
"Hey, Dean?" He says, almost too loud.  
  
The green eyed man turns to him with a whipped cream moustache on his upper lip and wipes it on his sleeve. "Yup?"  
  
"Would you mind helping me get the presents upstairs?" He asks, hoping for no new obstacles to arise now.  
  
Alex turns to him and smiles. "I can help if you want."  
  
"Nope. Sit, stay: it's your first real Christmas," Dean sets down his drink and walks to the stairs. "We'll be back."  
  
Sam thanks god that Dean has some sense and follows him upstairs. When they reach Dean's room, which is where the stored the gifts, he pushes him into his own guest room and locks the door. Dean raises his eyebrows at his boyfriend but is stopped from saying anything by a sudden kiss. He's not complaining—it's just very sudden.  
  
"Whoa, Sammy, we discussed this: no Christmas sex this year," he taunts, booping him on the nose.  
  
Sam laughs and presses his forehead to Dean's. "You know how we decided to do gifts when we get back to the bunker?"  
  
Dean groans and looks into Sam's hazel eyes, an attempt at annoyance being clouded by anticipation. "Sammy, you can't do these things! They make me feel bad 'cause I follow the rules!"  
  
"Oh, shuddup," he walks over to his duffel bag and pulls out the tests, which are wrapped in newspaper, and hands them to the love of his life, eagerly waiting to see his expression. "It's only something small. I hope you like it."  
  
Sam steps back to let Dean open his present, and he gets a strange look from the older man when he sees him bite his lip. Sam waves him on and he laughs to himself, peeling back the layers of newspaper to reveal the best surprise he's ever gotten.  
  
He stares at the white sticks held together by a hideous green bow, which he unties, and finally realizes he should read them. He sees plus signs on both of them, and his mind begins piecing things together. He thinks he's going crazy or just overthinking this (or perhaps it's some bad wine), but when he looks up to read Sam's face for clues, he sees him lay a single hand on his stomach.  
  
He doesn't know how to think. He knows he's about to cry, but when he looks at the tests again, he really thinks about it and figures out what's going on, beyond the test results, which are just the beginning.  
  
"No." He stares up, shocked. Sam laughs and nods. "No! What?! No way!"  
  
"Yeah," Sam sniffles.  
  
Dean tries to say something, but his words are jumbled and sound alien. "Y-you're sure?"  
  
"Yeah," Sam repeats. "I had Cas confirm it. I-I'm pregnant."  
  
"Oh my god! Holy shit!" Dean nearly shouts as he smiles like a complete idiot. He immediately embraces Sam and begins crying. He pulls away from the hug and looks at his soulmate with reddened eyes. "We're having a baby?"  
  
Sam, now tearing up as well, nods excitedly. "A baby, Dean. An actual, real baby. We're gonna be dads."  
  
"Oh my god," the green eyed man grins, hugging his boyfriend again. "We're gonna be dads."  
  
They want to stay like that forever. They want to revel in the fact that their lives are changing for the rest of time. But, they don't want to raise suspicions. Dean is now even more nervous about getting found out, because it's not just the two of them anymore. They have their child to worry about, too; they get to raise a human being together, just like they've always wanted.  
  
Dean pulls away from the hug and kisses his lover with all the happiness in the world, and cups his hand over Sam's, which still rests on his flat stomach.  
  
"When did you find out? How far along are you? Oh my god, I can't believe we're gonna be fucking _parents_ , Sammy," he wipes his eyes on his collar.  
  
Sam's eyes begin to water at the sound of his boyfriend's paternal domesticity. "I found out last night. Cas says I'm nine weeks gone, too. Fuckin' Monopoly."  
  
Dean can't help but snort-laugh at his comment and smiles so bright he could blind someone. "God, nine whole weeks. I love you so much, Sam Winchester. I love both of you. Fuck, it's so surreal sayin' that."  
  
"I know. I love you too, Dean." He walks to the door and hands him a tissue. "C'mon, let's go have the best Christmas ever."  
  
Dean laughs and wipes his eyes, heading into his room to grab the four boxes they had stored. Sam goes to pick something up, but is stopped by his overbearing boyfriend.  
  
"Nah, you get the light stuff...preggers," he says with a smirk.  
  
Sam kisses his cheek in reply. "Only this once, Mom."  
  
"You love me, bitch," he hands him a small wrapped box, still giddy and smiling.  
  
"That I do, jerk," he murmurs as he feels Dean wrap his arms around his waist, a hand on his stomach warming his heart as the figure moves from behind him to in front of him.  
  
The older's heart is still beating out of his chest and when he speaks, it sounds relieved yet strained. A loving look in his eyes, he kneels down on both knees and kisses Sam's lower abdomen, his lips being replaced by a warm hand on his skin afterward. "Right here, Sammy. Right here's our baby."  
  
"I know," he breathes. He never, ever thought he'd get to hear those words, but he's so glad he can. While his boyfriend is still revelling in their own little world, he takes an opportunity with a sly grin. "I call being called 'dad.'"  
  
"Uncool," Dean murmurs, standing up and kissing Sam's lips with enough passion to replace the sun. "I'd love to be papa, though."  
  
Eventually they walk to the staircase, shooting each other occasional excited looks.  
  
They reach the bottom of the stairs and make up a shitty excuse for taking so long, and hand out all the presents. Claire deadpans at Dean when she unwraps the Grumpy Cat plush, making him laugh, and Alex opens a necklace with her name on it (something Sam thought would make a good present on her first Christmas in a real family) before jumping up to hug Sam. It's then that he thinks to himself that he would really love to have a little girl. Jody whoops when she sets her new bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table and Sam swears he's never seen someone more excited over a crockpot than Donna.  
  
The following morning, Sam declines Jody's offer of coffee once again, this time getting a knowing smile from his best friend and soulmate. The rest of their trip is a whirlwind but before they know it, they're saying goodbye and jumping into the car, eager to get back to the bunker. The whole drive is filled with Dean claiming he can feel the baby kick (which Sam toys with for as long as possible), sing-alongs to the radio, and the occasional gleeful whispers of "we're having a baby" from Dean.  
  
The Winchesters have never really had a real place to call home. Every place they go is just four walls, and they never really feel like they've found their place. But now they realize: their home is one another.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> THIS WAS MEANT TO BE, LIKE, 3K WORDS MAX IDK WHAT HAPPENED BUT IM LOWKEY PROUD OF THIS MONSTROSITY


End file.
